Rope
by Little Boy of Lothering
Summary: "People don't seem to understand that Sam's body is, in fact, his." Warnings from non-con, as that's the whole point. (based on a very long, multi-blogger debate a while back on kansaskissedlips' tumblr but this is the first time I've been able to post it here) . Wincest.


Originally posted to tumblr and ao3. I feel seriously awkward posting this. Like, you have no idea.

Disclaimer: don't own Supernatural.

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Six months before Sam leaves for Stanford, he's been tied up five times. He knows this number because he has a mental checklist. The last one happens three days before he gets notice that he has a full ride to one of the most prestigious jobs in the country. He'd been debating on staying here anyway, staying with Dean because it'll break his heart.

Then he thinks, Five. Fucking. Times.

He sends the confirmation email. He's getting the Hell out of here and refuses to deal with rope every again. Or so he tells himself.

But, skip. Suddenly it's four years later and a demon has him tied to a post as bait for his dad. It itches even through his shirt and - oh. Oh, no, he slept with this chick at a bus station in Indiana, but he's not up for a repeat when she presses her mouth against his. She tastes like mint and sulfur. Less than a year earlier a ghost forced herself on him too. He wants Dean, Dean who's right there, tied up too but this is only his second time and not his seventh.

Seventh? Does getting stuck in a cage count? He decides that it doesn't because the rising number scares him. So, six. He's been tied up six times since he was twelve.

Six. Fucking. Times.

It gets worse. It always gets worse, and suddenly he's not sure it's just rope anymore. Does this count? He's not sure. He doesn't want it to, but it sticks there anyway. A number. Like a microchip of Who's Screwed Over Sam Winchester the Most stuck somewhere in the back of his brain. It hurts. It hurts because it's worse. And then even more worse, which is a grammatical error but grammar stops mattering when your brother's torn to shred on the ground and you have the Queen Bitch of demons forcing her mouth against yours.

There's a gap in his brain, a pretty fucking big one because he's not sure how it goes from Lilith in Ruby's host's body trying to shove her tongue in his tightly shut mouth to throwing up in Bobby's bathroom, still covered in blood with Dean buried but not burned. His brain supplies that, but he doesn't remember doing it. Not really. He wishes his brother was here with his "you'll be okay, Sammy" and "is this still good?" while he kisses the back of his neck and works on the button of his jeans.

After, there are a lot of gaps. The next time he wakes up, he's at least drunk if not high (he's never been high before) and Ruby's slipping his hand up her shirt. This is consensual, he thinks because she says he wants it. This is okay. I'll get Dean back but I need to forget. Fifteen minutes. Has it been fifteen times? He really hopes not.

(it isn't until way later, after he's back with dean and the apocalypse has started that his brother says, it was manipulation, she fucked with your head for a year, that it finally clicks)

Dean's back, being Dean except Hell-ified. And he doesn't get it. He doesn't get it because he's got angels on his shoulders - "Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood," Castiel said, biggest disappointment of his life, even - and Sam's not going to Heaven anyway. So what does it matter? He's got in the demon in him already, nestled tight in his blood like his body isn't his to begin with, but a co-owned apartment with the dead Azazel. And if he dies killing Lilith? Well, who the Hell cares? He's fucking his brother and he'd never have children anyway and he's just Sam Winchester, would-be Boy King with sulfuric poison for blood and -

"No, no, Dean, please, no!"

No one listens. No one ever fucking listens. No one ever listens and he's in a room of salt and iron and a ceiling devil's trap, which makes this his eleventh time. He wants Dean but he knows he won't get Dean because all these people are saying, it's your fault, it's your fault, if paraphrasing is okay. He wants Dean, but Dean isn't here.

Bobby got news through the rumor mill that hunters attacked him and his brother pries out the story in full and now there're arms tight around him. "It's not your fault," Dean says, which is backwards because isn't it always his fault? (tim and steve just wanted revenge because it's all his fault, says the world) "C'mon, Sammy, don't look at me like that. Those fuckers - just give me this, please?"

He's lost count.

"Okay," he tells his brother and relaxes into the hug. And then he repeats it twice, because the word feels like a fantastic, good-tasting lie pressed behind his lips.

His body's a co-owned apartment, like it always has been, and he's got Satan paying the bills. Dean's here, _saying_ that he's here, and there's a plastic army man still stuck where it's always been, way back into childhood.

So, his body might be co-owned, but it's a three way split because Dean's got a part of him too and two's better than one. He takes a deep breath, pushes back, and makes Satan sit shotgun. It's all okay because his brother's strong enough for the both of them.

Lucifer likes it when he cries. Sam doesn't remember how to speak English anymore.

On a Tuesday, his mind goes _Dean, Dean, help_ because there's something wrong with him but devotion is devotion and he wants his brother because the guy forcing himself into him is bigger, how rare is that. He thinks about the Devil and screams for Cas inside his head, for Cas to come save his ass (literally, figuratively, does it matter? lucifer wouldn't think so), or to get Dean to save his ass because Samuel won't help. He'd probably think it's funny.

What time is this?

He's still lost count.

Three weeks later he sleeps a woman just to prove it's okay, but one escalates to three in this nowhere town Rhode Island and something's wrong with him. He doesn't really get what _want _is anymore but he _wants _Dean - or Cas. Yeah, Cas would be nice. Cas could fix him, if he were here. Maybe. Maybe the Cage has messed up beyond what an angel can fix. Lucifer liked it when he cried, and now he doesn't remember how.

He really, really needs Dean.

That's not supposed to get in there, he thinks because he's tied up again with a belt in his mouth, Cas' hand inching towards his chest. This isn't what he'd call fixing. Getting the shit beaten out of him by his own brother after being tied up with a goddess (three fucking variation of living creatures to call you an abomination, freak) wasn't fun either but devotion's a far cry from -

The belt stops him from screaming, but the pain is intense. It reminds him of the Cage, of Lucifer carving the shape of the lost amulet into his heart. He really hates rope. Hadn't he promised himself no more rope? It itches through his shirt. The pain is intense but at least no one is kissing him, he figures.

But he has a hand through his chest. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is not supposed to be doing a repeat of Lucifer, Fallen Archangel.

"His soul is missing," he hears Cas tell Dean. "It must still be in the Cage, with Lucifer."

He wants the thing back. He might not have any concrete feelings, but he has common sense and common sense tells him _no one _should go through that.

Suddenly he's screaming at Death, screaming at Dean who's telling him that it'll be all right, that he _needs _this even when he doesn't because this will kill him, Heaven and Hell say, but no one is listening. No one ever fucking listens and now he's staring at his soul, mangled and torn and bleeding, still darkened from the taint of the demon blood, and he can't figure out why any one would want -

"Don't scratch the Wall."

Cas' hand is to his temple in this back alley in the middle of nowhere and the Wall breaking is less about actually shattering and more about _pulling - _a little like the world's biggest splinter being ripped by tweezers from his brain. He's looking at Dean, eyes wide with logical terror, but he can feel Castiel more intimately than he ever wanted to

(that hug, that hug that he dodged out of because he felt repulsed and _oh, _he'd shoved a hand up my chest, no fucking shit I didn't want that hug)

and this was supposed to be his friend that's betraying him. He's losing his mind with reality like a kite string on a windy day in Wildwood, Lucifer said, and even the brick walls are all screaming at him. Suddenly he's back downstairs, hellfire closing in, and he really, really wants Dean.

Dean's a good kisser, which is nice because that's about all he can do with Lucifer playing tag with that kite-string reality in his brain.

He doesn't go past kissing ever, which is good, because Becky Rosen went several steps beyond petting his chest and he doesn't bother thinking up a number anymore. His wrists hurt from rope burn. He hates rope. He wants nothing to do with rope. He wants Dean, and Dean is here, for once.

Then his brother says, "I'm not going anywhere," and runs his fingers through his hair. Sam's not sure if he cries, but he knows that he wants to.

Then Cas is back, which means he must be God's favorite child. Sam's still reeling from the aftermath of another demon tying him down and the electricity coursing through his body, but he doesn't want this either. Jimmy Novak's hand is back, against his head, along with complimentary eyes and veins glowing red, in the trench coat with the wrong shirt and pants underneath. It's a new Wall building itself but it's leaving holes, wounds to be infected. The infection is already forming and Dean's getting him out by threatening to sue.

Dean's gone. So is Cas. Sam is alone. Story of his life.

He thinks about killing himself, but Heaven's not an option and he really hates Hell.

But he tries anyway and hits a dog.

Dean is back, just like Cas was, but Cas doesn't come return again until later. Now it's seven months since then and his brother's not so mad anymore. But more than that he's here and Sam's in a chair with rope that itches through his shirt as it's untied. They're surrounded by teenagers, a vampire, and psychotic older hunter who insulted Bobby, which is the only thing keeping him from throwing himself at Dean to make it all go away.

He reminds himself that they saved the day, if that's even a thing anymore. In the car, Dean pulls him in by the shirt and gives him a kiss.

Against his brother's lips, he murmurs, "I never want to do that again."

Dean backs up, brushes his hair from his face. "I won't let it."

"I want to go home."

"You'll be okay."

It isn't perfect, but this is him and this is Dean and at least it's something.

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reviews are love. :3


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